


A Moment to be Real

by JHSC



Series: The Ultimate Kidfic of Ultimate Destiny [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adoption, Except for UKOUD canon at this point, Family Dynamics, Gen, Natasha Romanov-centric, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 23:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21023969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHSC/pseuds/JHSC
Summary: Natasha doesn't know how she feels about Bailey.





	A Moment to be Real

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on my drive for *mumble* years, and it's about time I got working on it again. This is immensely WIP and I make zero guarantees regarding posting schedule but HEY I'm not in grad school anymore so perhaps miracles can happen.

_And I want a moment to be real_

_Wanna touch things I don't feel_

_We want to hold on and feel I belong_

\- [Johnny Rzeznik](http://bit.ly/2vORhWE)

*

Saturday, July 29, 2006

*

Natasha has established 32 discrete routes from the LA SHIELD base to Clint’s apartment in Boyle Heights. It takes her anywhere from 20 minutes to two hours to get from Point A to Point B (by way of Points C, Q, Z, D, Ћ, Д, Ф and Z), and can involve any combination of cars, cabs, motorcycles, public transit, back alleys, and rooftops.

The base is hidden. Clint’s apartment building has more security than it appears to have on first (and second, and third) glance. Likelihood of being tracked from the base to Clint’s place is under one percent.

But. There’s a lot of room in that one percent for Clint to get hurt. So she maps her routes.

Today, she takes Route 15b (36 minutes, 4.5 extraneous miles), because she has plans to watch Narnia with Clint and Phil. There is a 68% chance Clint will bake cookies.

The lights are on in Clint’s living room and bedroom windows when she passes by the front of his building, heading toward the rear door. She passes it, slips through the basement window into the laundry room, takes the elevator to the top floor, and then walks down two flights of stairs to reach Clint’s apartment. She can smell the cookies from the hallway.

When she unlocks the door and opens it, though, something makes her pause. It’s quiet; Phil and Clint _should_ be flirting in the kitchen, but the light is off, and the full cookie sheets are arranged neatly on the stovetop. Clint usually transfers them to wire racks to cool.

Natasha can hear breathing. She pulls out one of her knives, steps through the doorway, and peeks around the corner to take in the scene in the living room. It’s Phil, sitting on the couch with a book in his lap, reading glasses perched on his nose. He glances up and meets her eyes, unsurprised (as always) to find her eyeballing him from the doorway.

“Hey, Natasha,” Phil says, voice sounding much like it does when he asks her if she’s eaten a vegetable lately, but there’s an undercurrent, a tension. She stays put, keeps the blade out, and waits. Phil sighs, and then explains, “Your dad’s on the phone in the other room.”

Natasha puts the knife back in its holster, clicking it into place in the small of her back. She pulls two cookies off the nearest tray, sits down next to Phil on Clint’s couch, and says, “Bailey called, then?”

Phil doesn’t blink. He never does. “He opened the adoption records on his birthday, and found your dad’s phone number on the adoption registry website.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at Clint’s complete inability to keep his official SHIELD cell phone number secure, ignoring the way it makes her anxious. She hopes the eye rolling might throw Phil off, but as always, she can’t put anything past him.

“How did you know it was Bailey?”

“It’s been eight years,” she says. She passes him one of the cookies, and bites into the one she keeps. “I can do math, Phil.”

Phil nods and takes a bite of his cookie. “Fair enough.”

“How long have they been on the phone?” she asks.

“Little under an hour,” Phil replies, and Natasha lets out a breath. She’s been waiting for this day to come for eight years. She has envisioned the six different ways it could turn out, and the consequences for their little family unit:

  1. Bailey never calls.
  2. He calls, but refuses to meet Clint.
  3. He meets Clint and then rejects him.
  4. He meets Clint and asks him to be his father again.
  5. He wants Clint, but doesn’t want Phil around.
  6. He wants Clint and Phil, but doesn’t want Natasha around.

If she’s honest with herself, she’d been hoping for result #1. It’s easier. It keeps Clint emotionally stable. But considering the genetics involved, she had estimated its likelihood of occurrence at less than five percent.

Sometimes, Natasha hates being right.

“That’s good,” she finally replies.

She waited too long to respond; Phil picks up on it. Damn. “Do you remember what the judge asked your dad during the adoption hearing?”

“She asked him a lot of things,” she says.

Phil gives her his _are you seriously kidding me_ eyebrows, and she gives in. She doesn’t want to argue with him right now, anyway. “I think there was something about adoption being a permanent, lifelong commitment.”

“There, you see? Your dad isn’t going anywhere.” Phil is picking up on some of her anxieties and is trying to be reassuring. It’s both endearing and frustrating, and wholly ineffective.

“That’s the fourth time you’ve referred to Clint as my dad since you started talking,” she points out.

“Am I laying it on too thick?” he asks, switching to his_ I am completely innocent of any subterfuge or manipulation _eyebrows. Phil has a lot of eyebrows. “I hadn’t realized.”

She shakes her head at him and steals the book off his lap, opening it to a random page and beginning to read.

The bedroom door opens, and Clint steps out, phone still pressed tightly to his ear. His eyes are red, but dry for the moment. He rests his hand on Natasha’s shoulder, but directs his words at Phil. “Hey, we got anything going on next weekend?”

Phil shakes his head and replies, “No, no plans.”

They’re not talking about dinners or dates; they’re talking about missions.

Clint gives them a thumbs-up, and then heads back down the hallway and into his bedroom.

So. That’s result #2 off the table, then.

*

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
